


The Lab

by Ab0019



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Institute - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M, Re-write, The Institute - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ab0019/pseuds/Ab0019
Summary: In the middle of a quiet yet vibrant Albany night, Jane “El” Hopper is taken from her apartment without a trace of anyone being there. In and out in only a few moments, it is only her adoptive father that notices the difference. The young girl, who had been flagged for telekinetic abilities since birth, is brought to a Georgian lab where she meets other children like her.Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, and eventually a skittish boy by the name of Will Byers are all in the front half, where they receive periodic injections, tests, and tokens for good behaviour. But eventually, after the mysterious workers determine they are ready for the dreaded back half, the group-as well as the others that come and go to the lab-are bound for a plunge into what can only be described as the roach motel, where you check in but never check out.But despite the seemingly harmless situation and the promise of an eventual return back to their families and lives before the tests even began, El can’t help but become more and more desperate to get out. But there lies the problem: No one has ever escaped the lab.Or: A "The Institute" AU
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper & The Party, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers & Joyce Byers & Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Jonathan Byers & Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers & Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Mike Wheeler & Nancy Wheeler, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane & Dustin Henderson & Maxine Mayfield & Lucas Sinclair & Mike Wheeler, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(Just Like) Starting Over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909628) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Hey so uh, this may look familiar.
> 
> Let me explain real quick:
> 
> In I think January, I started a fic called "(Just Like) Starting Over", which had the same idea and description. Well, life got in the way and I ended up abandoning the fic because school ultimately comes first and I just didn't have the time. I forgot about it, too busy to work on it anyway.
> 
> But then my country, as well as most of the world, launched into a pandemic and closed almost all non-essential businesses and schools. So now, instead of being flooded with work, I'm out of school until at least May (Which is summer anyway), though this all is expected to go on for longer. So, in an attempt to pay attention to the world less, I decided I'd try this again :) (Note, because it's been a while since I've worked on this and I've since discarded of the notes, I'm re-writing this)
> 
> Standard "I don't know English" warning, I've gotten better but still manage to mess up a bit.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Albany, New York  
12:39  
The Hopper Apartment

“There’s no fucking way I’m doing that much homework, El, this isn’t my damn job!” The boy on the other line yelled, sounding infuriated at even the thought of doing his share of the school project. “Honestly, what did you expect? You know Gretta and I are only working with you to get the grade, we’re not here to put any real work in.”

El whimpered, glancing at the clock. 12:39 am, way past her bedtime and the time in which Hopper was supposed to return home. She had spent the time both trying to stay awake long enough for her father to return home and putting the final touches on her history project. It was hard getting the approval from her teacher to do the project on the Vietnam War (Which still felt all too recent to the world), and yet it was even harder to get her group members to do their part. One person would cover the feud between the Anti-Communists and Communists, another would cover the ‘69 US draft, and the other would cover the aftermath. And yet somehow, despite her attempts all week, all that was completed was her own part.

“Please, it’ll sink all our grades if you don’t do your part and we both know you can’t afford that.” El pleaded, moving to begin putting away her hard work before it all got destroyed. She was getting a bit too riled up by this kid, and didn’t want to risk anything too detrimental. “It won’t take that long if you use those newspapers I gave you, they’re from both here and abroad and have enough information to get you an A.”

The kid on the other line scoffed, somehow managed to audibly roll his eyes. It was clear El’s attempts would turn out useless, and she’d likely have to throw something together last minute. But for now, she was too tired and set on edge to really attempt anything else. Hell, she should have been in bed by now, but she had far too much to worry about right now.

“What, the fire fuel? I burned ‘em the moment I got home. Just bring in your dad’s dog tags and therapy notebooks and we can pass it around, everyone’ll act like they haven’t them before and we’re guaranteed a solid B on the aftermath section.” The kid resorted, becoming boreder and boreder with the conversation. He was probably too busy screwing around with one of the popular girls to even give El a thought.

“You’re doing the draft, not the aftermath.” El cried, the papers in her room beginning to stir without a breeze. She needed to calm down, she was too tired and couldn’t deal with this. If she were lucky, she’d be able to catch Hopper in the morning and confiscate his draft notice (Again, she was sure everyone had become familiar with the notice from their own families, but it was better than nothing.). If she wasn’t and couldn’t manage to find it on her own, she could probably talk the teacher into grading their works individually. “Just, god, fuck, meet me upfront before first period, we’ll figure it out then.”

Before the boy could even mumble a half-hearted “Mhmm”, El had already slammed the phone onto its mount. She was seething with hatred and exhaustion, wishing more than ever that she’d just worked alone. But despite her sea of hatred, she still felt an overwhelming flood of worry. Not for the project, since she knew the chances of her teacher taking pity on her were more than likely, but for her father.

Hopper had had the occasional late-night, whether it be because of an especially messy homicide case or a night on binge drinking due to a heavier case than usual (Mrs Driscoll had been especially hard on him, especially after it was confirmed to be a suicide rather than a murder). But it had never been this late. No, it was usually no later than 11:15, 11:30 at the most.

Taking a few deep breaths to recoil herself, El grasped the phone once more and began punching in the numbers she had memorized to heart. Those slow times in which El had returned home, and Hopper didn’t have much to do, and everything was calm. Where El would tell her father about her day, and where he’d insist that she was to only call him in emergencies when secretly he hopped each day his adoptive daughter would call the precinct. One ring.

The times when El was a bit older and had gotten over her stage of calling Hopper almost every day after being scolded by another officer who managed to reach the line before her, but still wanted to check in on her father every now and then. Two rings.

The time when El’s teacher had received news that there was a massive shootout between an officer and the Albany Homicide Detective Precinct and needed to know that it wasn’t Hopper, that her father wasn’t to be the next top case for the team. Three rings.

The time, at their home, at Hopper’s last position, when a fifth grade El had become too overworked in class and had caused desks to fly, and books to soar, and even other students to glide without even touching them. When she had run home in the middle day without even taking any of her stuff and crying into the phone on how she’d messed up, and that they would come for her, and that she had tried so hard to hold it in but it was too hard. And Hopper’s instructions to compile the necessities and be ready to move out within the hour, because she’d risked too much running home already and not managing to find a phone at school. Finally, just as she began to spiral, someone on the other end of the line answered.

“Hello, this is the Albany Homicide Detective Precinct anonymous tip line, you’re talking to Cheryl, how many I help you?” The lady recited, sound so much less enthused than El’s history partner had only a few moments prior. Not that she could blame the lady anyway, since it was quite likely El’s call would be the only one she’d received that night and would continue to receive.

“Ms Cheryl, this is Jane Hopper, was wondering if you knew when my father was expected to be returning home? I wouldn’t usually call this late, and I know I should be in bed, but I don’t like being alone without my father and he’s never been out this late before, and-”  
The lady interrupted, cutting El off mid-sentence.

“Dear, please slow down, you’re speaking at the rate of a freight train and I’m frankly too old to keep up with your pace. So please, if you wouldn’t mind repeating, what was your name again, and who were you looking for?”

El shrunk into herself, wrapping the phone cord around her fingers in embarrassment. Speaking too quickly when nervous was something she’d never really managed to break, even during the most important of times. Nonetheless, she began again, making sure to enunciate when needed and speak especially slow.

“My dad works at the station, Jim Hopper, he hasn’t come home yet and I’m beginning to get worried,” El spoke again without any interruptions. “I don’t know where he is, or if he even left the station yet, but I wanted to know if you possibly knew what time he was going to come home.”

The woman didn’t respond but rather mumbled something inaudible to someone else in the office, scratched something on the piece of paper, turned back to the person, said something more, until finally turning her attention back to El.

“How old are you, dear?” She questioned, scratching down yet another thing onto her notepad.

El was taken aback for a moment, unsure of what her age had to do with anything. A confirmation that she was, in fact, Hopper’s kid? But even if she was impersonating someone, an age was simple enough that anyone could get, right?

“Fourteen,” El answered, though it came out more like a question. “But what does that have to do with my father, when is he coming back?”

The women sighed loudly, though whether it was out of distress or to cover the heavy footsteps and door slamming in the background, El was unsure of. “Look, hun, I guess our officers didn’t end up reaching you, but your father was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What do you mean?” El pressed, her voice beginning to break. She didn’t need clarification, no one ever did because there was no other thing that “being in the wrong place at the wrong time” could mean. But she didn’t want to hear it. No, she didn’t want to confirm it, not now. It was one thing when she was younger, but Hopper was literally all that she had left.

The breeze began to pick up again, though with less mercy than before. The old antique clock on the wall fell to the ground with a loud smash!, and not ever her project was safe from the storm of papers starting to take flight.

“Jane, please calm down, it’s all right. We’re sending over some people to help you that should be there within a few moments, please, just stay where you are!” Cheryl spoke, sounding less and less sincere.

Not that El noticed anyway, since she was far too busy trying to prevent herself from destroying the whole apartment. The magnets on the fridge all came crashing down as the canisters labelled “Flour” and “Sugar” both littered the floor. It became harder and harder to breath as everything crumbled around her.

This couldn’t be real. There had been no news about an officer’s death on the news, and god knew that’s all she’d managed to watch for the last three hours. There had to be a mistake, a different officer, and different county, state, anything. It just couldn’t be him.

El crumpled to the floor just as a toaster flew over her head, shutting her eyes tight as she wished that this was all just some terrible dream, a dream that she would wake up from the next morning in her comfy bed, or hell, even on top of her project. She was tired, that was all. Hopper was coming home, and everything was alright, and this was all fine. If she were lucky, she’d open her eyes to find that she didn’t even destroy the house in the midst of her irrational fears. She would open her eyes, and realize that everything was alright.

Her breathing slowed a bit as the noise began to settle. No more flying produce or falling framed, just a kitchen, with a phone dangling helplessly from its stand, and that was all. Once she was certain everything was okay, that the world had stopped collapsing in on itself, she slowly opened her eyes.

Unfortunately, though, her eyes were met with the very thing she had feared. Her kitchen was still very much in disarray, with messes reaching as far as the eye could see. More things had been knocked over than she expected, but that was to be expected. What wasn’t to be expected, though, was the towering man crouched down at her level with piercing blue eyes holding what could only be described as a Lysol canister.

“Who-” She tried, but was quickly silenced with the sound of a loud hissing as the contents of the canister met the air, flowing straight into her nose.

And that was the last thing El could recall before her vision was flooded with black.

“Hawkins Energy and..” Hopper trailed off, squinting at the card left on the apartment floor, but suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. The card seemed to weigh down like a ton of bricks. Heavier and heavier until he couldn’t hold it anymore, causing it to slide onto the ground.

  
He felt numb-How could he have been so dumb?- to the point that it hurt too much. Of course, this happened on a night he wasn’t there, it was always bound to be on a night like this. With no one but El around. He felt like he could puke, but he had to push on.

  
They were likely miles away by now, they’d always been good at that, but he couldn’t lose faith. Stumbling his way the entire time, he finally made his way over to the telephone, paying little mind to the paper left on the counter and the sound of a car speeding off from the complex.

  
His fingers felt like lead as he bit back tears and tried his hardest to not break with every word. How could he allow this to happen again? It didn’t matter, he’d get her back, he had to, even if it was the last thing he did.

  
The phone rang with each moment passing, ring, ring, ring, with each one making Hopper feel sicker and sicker. He was about to slam the phone down, perhaps try again, something, until he finally heard it.

  
“Who is this?” A groggy voice questioned, audibly annoyed. And rightfully so, it being almost midnight at this point. But it didn’t matter to him, this was far too important to wait.  
“Joyce, god, please, just listen to me-“

  
“Hopper? Jim Hopper? Wow, it’s been a while... Look, I’m glad you want to talk after, what, ten years? But, uh, I have work tomorrow.. and you probably do too. Unless Sarah’s sick again. God, how is she? She looked terrible when you left Hawkins.” Joyce Byers sighed into the phone.

  
Hopper’s heart dropped at the mention of Sarah. But no, she could deal with that now. There was no way she would've known, it’s not her fault, she didn’t-

  
“Check on Will. Please.”

  
The line fell silent for a moment. But suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, it started up again. This time, with a storm of what could only be described as laughter.

  
“Will? Hopper, Will’s not a child, why would I check up on him like he’s a toddler?” Joyce questioned, a smile crossing her face as she spoke. “Look, it’s nice to know you're alive, but it’s too early for this. We can talk about this again in the morning, hopefully when you're not high on whatever you’ve been smoking.”

  
Even from twelve hours away, Hopper swore he could hear Joyce reaching to return the phone. In a moment's notice, and without even thinking, he shouted.

  
“Don’t,” He practically pleaded, realizing only after it had come out how loud he actually was. T-they took her, they took Terry’s girl, they’re making their rounds in the area, please just..”  
Hopper began to cry, despite his finest efforts not to. But it didn’t matter, it wouldn't matter. Despite the eerie quietness, he knew Joyce hadn’t hung up and had heard everything.

  
Perhaps she would listen now?


	2. Chapter 2

Franklin, Georgia  
16:56/4:56 PM  
The Lab

El awoke suddenly, her head spinning and her body aching. She felt so sick that she could dispose of the little food she had had, and there was a rock concert going on inside her head. Thump, thump, thump, all at once, attacking her again and again. She tried to replay the last night in her head. The Vietnam War project, the spinning, Hopper’s absence, the phone calls..

The men in her kitchen.

And yet, despite her distinctly remember the sickeningly sweet smell of the Lysol can’s substance, and her vision suddenly being flooded to black, and the lady’s assurance that she’d be brought somewhere else, she, for some odd reason, found herself in her room once more. Despite her memory promising that she collapsed onto the kitchen’s floor, and that those men were most definitely not meant to take her away to somewhere Hopper would have wanted her to go to, she still found herself in her old Albany room.

The corkboard bustling with old photos, retelling memories of her times with Hopper, no matter the state or even country, with memorabilia to detail it all. Her bookbag, with its collections of patches and buttons all sporting their age lay sagging against the bed. Her rainbow polka-dot bed sheets she’d owned since the time before, with the matching Rainbow Brite pillowcases to match. Everything was the same, except for the feeling.

Even small details that weren’t too noticeable became apparent, such as the chip in the wallpaper from the last residents, or the stain on the carpeting from when she’d accidentally spilt grape juice. Such small details seemed to point her to the obvious conclusion that she was in the wrong, that she was going mad, and yet… she felt rational to be feeling the way she did.

El took to her feet, gliding to each corner of the room. The closet, with its series of school-spirit wear and thrift-store purchases. Her bookshelf contained all her favourite books, including her signed copy of Stephen King’s Firestarter. On top of her dresser, there even remained her collection of family memories and trinkets. The photo of her on the first day of school, back in Montana. Her first time going to an amusement park in Ohio, with the Cedar Point flag laying proudly upon it. But that wasn’t convincing enough, not yet. Standing on her tippy toes, he reached her arm back behind all the portraits, and toys, and junk, and grasped, grasped, grasped…

At nothing.

The ribbon, blue and glossy, wasn’t where she’d always kept it. Instead of being protected by a wall of memories, there were only a few markings noting the movement of the other objects. Others would immediately turn to the conclusion that they simply forgot to put it there, or that it may have even fallen behind the dresser, but this wasn’t it.

El let out a sigh of relief, knowing that she wasn’t, in fact, insane, but instead completely rational. But her relief didn’t last too long, as reality was quick to settle in. If she wasn’t back home in her Albany apartment, where was she? How had those men known her room so well to be able to replicate almost perfectly? Where is Hopper, and is he in danger?

Once more, the room began to spin. Some many possibilities came flying at her all at once. But in truth, she knew where she was. She knew the risk even before she could speak, but never wanted to believe it could really happen. After all, they had always been so careful not to make a slip-up. So then why, at this point, had they found her?

Not wanting to think of what all had happened last night, El moved to the door. Much to her surprise, it wasn’t locked but instead left open. In fact, it almost seemed to be begging her to open it up, reveal what secrets lay beyond it. 

Not wanting to upset the door, she obeyed, prying it open as she expected the worse. But instead of coming face to face with a lion, or a creepy clown, or a field of security, she opened up to see a long hallway stretching as far as the eye could see (Creepy girls at the end of it excluded, much to her delight) with a series of doors to top it all off. Upon the wall, there was a series of 1950’s style posters. The needles are your friends!, one read. Lot 6 improves brain stimulation! Another one cried. Whatever that meant.

But as she made her way through the corridor, one, in particular, caught her eye. Unlike the others, this one had actual pictures of people instead of that of a brain or a hypodermic needle. It showed a cartoonish boy, no older than her, sitting gleefully on top of one of those crinkly hospital beds. Next to him, a doctor with a just as joyful grin, holding a needle in his left hand as he prepared to plunge it into the boy’s arm. But most odd of all were the words outlining the whole portrait. Instead of informing the reader about some sort of new vaccine, or the wonders of this brand new medication, the poster seemed to have other plans when it came to its intentions.

“Shots For Dots! The Quicker You See ‘em, The Quicker You’ll Be Back Home!”

Not wanting to look at the eerie poster any longer, El moved past. There had to be other people here, and she had every intention to find them.

“There she is,” Brenner spoke, running his finger along the paper in front of him. Its crisp edges, brought fresh to him every day detailing every bit of new information about The Lab. Mostly about how much the children had eaten, or their tests, or even the approval of their movement to the back half, but this… This was the type of reports he actually enjoyed seeing on his desk. “Jane Ives, making her debut fresh outta Albany after her stretched out world tour. Seems to see her long overdue visit home has finally begun. Tell me, she’s become quite the prodigy?”

“She won’t be for long.” Tom Hollaway joked, nodding his partner beside him. Connie Frazier rolled her eyes at the man’s impulse, questioning her position as his coworker and how she managed the almost 20-hour car ride with him. His other partner, on the other hand, Bruce Lowe, was more inclined to let out a slight chuckle.

Brenner glared at the pair for a moment, but nothing more. He had more important things to worry about, the underlings below him acting immature not being the highest of priorities. Instead, he lifted up the new girl’s intake form and placed a circular pink sticker on it.

“Are you learning anything from your pinks?” Brenner questioned, eyeing Tom in particular. “Anything at all?”

Tom nodded, though how genuine it was was a bit hard to tell. “You know we are, you’ve seen the result. I know they don’t necessarily last the longest, but with the bunch we have coming in today is bound to be worth something.”

“How many are we talking?” Brenner questioned, beginning to trifle through his stack of daily papers. They weren’t supposed to be getting any new ones for a bit, and certainly not all in one day. There was certainly some concerned to be raised about how prepared they were.  
“Five,” Connie interjected, pulling a folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket and preparing to read it aloud. “Really, only two are arriving tonight, but five are on the way. Two from Bard team, and the three tomorrow from Cleric. Four TK. The others a TP, and boy is he a catch. Ninety-three nanograms BDNF.”

“Will Byers, correct?” Brenner raised an eyebrow, interested. “From Bloomington, Indiana?”

“Hawkins.” Connie corrected, offering the sheet as her teammates began to imitate her.

A catch indeed, Brenner couldn’t help but think to himself. This kid would be the first non-pink they had awhile, and boy was he proud. Less injection, less risk of seizures, and no near-drowning experiences. Not with his BDNF score.

“How wonderful,” Brenner noted, scratching something onto a pad of paper and pushing aside. This would be good, he could tell. “But five children on such short notice is a lot of work. Connie, Tom, go inform the maids that we need the rooms cleared and set as soon as possible. As for you,” Brenner turned, pointing to Bruce as the two departed from the room. “I need to speak to you.”

Bruce moved closer, settling down into one of the chairs lining the desk. He wasn’t afraid of the confrontation, but rather what he may have to clean up. Luckily, though, neither of which was the topic of today’s discussion.  
“This girl’s guardian, the sheet states that she’s no longer an Ives but rather a Hopper. How long has this been as such?”

Bruce shook his head, trying to remember an exact date. It had to be at least ten years now, if not more. In their last failed attempt they ended up getting to the mother, but not to the girl. He didn’t really expect it to lead to a name change, but a name change had happened nonetheless.

“Since she was two, I believe. But I don’t understand, it’s technically just foster care. No true parent means no true reason to kill.”

Brenner pounded the table out of anger. “Fucking Hell!” He cried, expressing his anger on a subject he was yet to provide much detail on. “How could your team not consider this? It’s not foster care if the guardian gives the kid their last name!” 

“Papers stated nothing was official, that he was only a placeholder until she got out of foster care and mom was able to care for her again. As far as we were aware, he was just another foster parent, no need to kill. Besides, he wasn’t even home. We couldn’t kill him.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Brenner expressed. “The mom’s dead! They’re all dead! And yet you thought just because nothing official stated that Jim Hopper was the father, it’s okay to leave a potential witness? The dude’s a cop, he has ties! What happens if another child hears of his story? Did you not think of this?”  
“I’m sure it’s fine. If anything, they’ll label him crazy as they did with Terry. He’ll be out in a few years and he won’t be a problem. I know it may seem dumb that we didn’t take him out, but we had no reason to. We have reasons behind what we do.”

Brenner angrily glared at Bruce. It took everything in his person not to kill him then and there. But in the calmest voice he could muster, he spoke.

“You and Bard Team need to go back to Albany, and you better pray that he hasn’t noticed anything yet.”

“What if he’s not there?”

“You don’t want to find out.” Brenner threatened.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I just want to say a big thank you for your beyond kind comments and kudos. They absolutely make my week when I see them! :)

Franklin, Georgia  
17:05/5:05 PM  
The Lab

Though the hallway presented a handful more of head-turning posters, none proved to be as concerning as the Shots for Dots (Which, El was still trying to interpret). But while she could look on for days at the “Just Another Day in Paradise” poster, the activity quickly became boring. So, instead of continuing her observation of the framed decoration, she began subtly peaking into any door that was left notably open.

Some rooms were just as decorated as her own, likely to match their owner’s old ones back home. One was space-themed, with a galaxy dawning the ceiling as stick-on rocket ships plotted their adventures around the room. Another was themed to that of superheroes, with posters from both DC and Marvel making themselves present. But more often or not, she was met with a room that had nothing at all. Instead of being painted, the walls were simply white, with only a white panelled floor and bed to match.

It was distant, almost as if whoever controlled this place hadn’t decided their future child’s exact interests, and were still awaiting the right moment to move in. It was almost painful to look at, creating the question of whether or not she should wish there was someone in there. On one hand, it would make the whole place seem so much less dead. But on the other, it just meant there were fewer children to face… face whatever El was bound to face.  
But as interesting as both the filled and the empty rooms were, none proved to be as eye-catching as the one she stumbled upon next. The room was normal for the most part, looking just as you’d expect a teenage boy’s room to look. A normal bookshelf with normal books topped off with a normal looking bed in the corner. The walls were a normal shade of blue, and the framed photos on the wall represented a normal-looking family consisting of a mother, father, sister, and brother. The most absurd component of the room was, in truth, the Michigan State College flag, and even that could probably be found in most Michigan households. Well, that and the black-haired boy sitting in the middle of the room and enjoying a cigarette.

“We’re not in Albany anymore, are we?” El asked, taking her chances and moving further into the room than she thought offered. Much to her surprise, though, the boy didn’t dare put up a fight but instead served up a dashing grin. 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.” The boy joked, sliding over from his spot and offering El a seat. Still not comfortable with her surroundings, she wordlessly yet politely declined. “We’re in Georgia, if what Barb told us can be trusted. Some small-town made up of assholes and a non-reliable police force, thus the reason you were able to be dragged here without notice.”

El suddenly felt light-headed. Now she had a name for the location, but no way to inform any of her loved ones about it. She’d travelled across the country, from New York to Georgia, and now she knew this for certain.  
“Sit down before you faint. It’s a lot, I know, but it could be worse. You’re still in the front half, and it’s best to enjoy it while you still can.” The boy once more offered the spot beside him. This time, El complied.

“I was in my kitchen, and my father, he wasn’t there, but some other people were. It was late, god, it was late, and my Vietnam War project was in my backpack, and I wanted to go to bed, but Hop wasn’t home yet, but they said he’d been shot on the job. But now I’m here, and I’m not supposed to be here, and-”

The boy suddenly interrupted El by placing a warm hand on her shoulder. It was certainly a shock, but nothing like all that she’d faced within the last half hour. Nonetheless, she didn’t dare pull away but instead just let it be.

“Seriously, if there’s anything Heather hates more than fussy children it’s anxious children. You’ll want to calm yourself down before to do something you regret.” The boy said, beginning to pull something from his pocket.

It was a cigarette box, with a gleaming cowboy on the front. Just as the posters framed in the hall, this one also seemed to be a remnant from the 1950s. This one, though, lured her in with the exclamation of “Smoke Just Like Daddy!” El carefully accepted one, placing it in her mouth just as she’d seen Hopper done thousands of times before. Much to her surprise, her mouth was filled with sugar the moment she bit down.  
“It’s sugar!” El exclaimed as she chewed, watching as the boy pocketed the rest of the box. But then there lay the problem; Sugar cigarettes were something of the past, with smoking starting to be frowned upon once all the issues that stemmed from it began to surface. Now, the sugary candy had since been changed to that of powdery white tubes that looked more like straws than anything else. The once endearing “Smoke Like Daddy” or the like had been changed to fun characters, such as Superman or He-man. Why, the candy had to be at least twenty years old.

“They have the real ones, too, if that’s the kind of thing you’re into.” The boy added, cracking a smile at El’s confusion. “In the canteen, that is. Luckies, and Chesterfields, Camels… It’s tempting at times, reminds me of my father, by fuck, they cost a lot of tokens.” 

El finished off the cigarette and once more turned to the boy again. The treat was tasty, but it didn’t distract her from the point at hand. 

“Real cigarettes? For kids?”

The boy nodded his head, almost in a sad way. As if children smoking wasn’t bad enough, that is. But at the same time, it was almost as if it wasn’t the smoking that made him upset, but rather something on a bigger scale. The canteen, perhaps, or even the tokens. Or perhaps something he hadn’t alluded to yet.

“Considering most of the population here is children, I’d say there’s a decent chance that it’s meant for kids. Not that you’ll see many in the front half right now.” The boy thought about it for a moment, as if considering if the cigarettes really were meant for children. “At least that’s what Barb said. Where she gets her information, though, we’ll likely never find out.”

Barb? Sounded like the name of one of her elderly neighbours. Definitely not that of a child, or adult, or whatever Barb was. The boy hadn’t really told her much about anything yet, including but not limited to what she was doing here, or where everyone else was… Or even his name.

“What’s your name?” El suddenly blurted out, interrupting the boy as he droned on about something. She prepared to be met with anger, but instead, he grinned wider than she had seen him grin from when she first found him. He perkily stuck out his hand for her to shake. She complied.

“Mike Wheeler.” He suddenly raised a finger. “Not Michael.”

“Care to explain? Mike is oftentimes short for Micheal.” Mike nodded his head, confirming El’s suspicions. So it wasn’t a matter of his parents wanting him to be special, just preference. Preference she had every intention of finding out the deeper roots on.

“They tend to call you by your legal names before doing their stupid tests on you. Usually, Larry and Janet, though you can count on any of the Holloways to be major dicks, ‘Now Michael, I’m going to stick this giant, ten-inch needle in your arm and push acid in your bloodstream!’ and ‘Micheal, if you wouldn’t mind just opening your mouth for a few second as we scrape the back of your throat to see why you aren’t responding to any of our inhumane experiments’, and my personal favourite, the ‘Shame on you Micheal, taking longer than usual to go ascend out of the front half, I guess we’ll have to test how long you can hold your breath by continuously dunking you into sub-zero ice water’. That’s why you can’t call me Micheal.”

“Wow,” Is all El managed to muster out. Waterboarding? Ten-inch injections of acid? And what kind of acid? Real, melt your skin acid or the drug acid that makes you lose your mind? Needless to say, she was far from wanting to find out, especially with the throat scraping.

“Don’t suppose you have a name?” Mike questioned, acting as if he hadn’t just listed off a bunch of different torture methods with the potential to make anyone squirm.

“Yeah, I do…” El trailed off, still stunned for Mike’s explanations. “My name’s El Hopper, and though I haven’t really had a reason to hate my legal name I guess just don’t call me Jane Ives.”

Mike gave her a puzzled look, trying to sort it out in his head. Defeated, decided to move the topic on. Now that their names had been sorted out, it was on to the so-called ‘rule’ to follow. Not necessarily put in place by the higher-ups, though he was sure they’d be thrilled about their prisoner’s priorities.

“Look, I know it may seem tempting to act out or fight against the tests, but listen to me when I say you need to cooperate to survive. As long as you do as you're told, you’ll typically be rewarded, oftentimes with enough currency to get a good snack or two. But please, listen to me when I say that it doesn’t matter how hard you resist, they will always get what they want. And I’ve been here long enough to tell you you don’t stick around upfront to make a fuss out of everything you do.” Mike’s voice broke a bit, as if he were approaching a more painful topic. “You will eventually be forced into the back half, and though I haven’t been there myself, I can assure you it isn’t the whole “Back to civilization” bull they like to explain. It’s-”

Mike was suddenly interrupted by the loud noise of two double doors swinging open. El shrunk back deeper into Mike’s room, but the boy proved to be more adventurous. With a stern look, he took to his feet, expecting the worst to come.

Carefully making his way to the doorway, he cautiously peeked out. El feared what would come, perhaps a team of men would come to drag them away. Or maybe they had heard them talking too much, and were prepared to torture them into silence. But despite El’s worst nightmares appearing to come to life, Mike smiled, beckoning her out into the hall.

“Hey, Barb!” He called out, rushing down the hall as if he were seeing a life-long friend. “I want you to meet someone!”


End file.
